Experiments (Of Sorts)
by hermitsunited5456
Summary: Johnlock oneshots. Chapters not connected (or at least not planned to be). All about different 'experiments' of Sherlock's. Be warned: lots of fluff. Good fluff. Fluffy fluff.


John woke up to the buzzing of his phone.

**im outside**

**-SH**

"Dear Lord, Sherlock. It's nearly two!" the doctor grumbled, wrapping his robe around his waist and slipping the phone into his pocket. He had planned on staying up until Sherlock got back, but apparently reading in bed was a bad idea. He dozed off two pages into his book, tired and (just a bit) grumpy and annoyed with Sherlock for being so...Sherlock-ish.

His phone buzzed again.

**hury**

**-SH**

"Just a minute!" he yelled down the stairs, stumbling down a few before finally finding the light switch. The doctor raced down the now illuminated stairs, fumbling with the door handle and swinging the door open quite violently.

"Jawn!" Sherlock cried happily from the doorstep, having narrowly avoided being hit by the door. His usually tidy outfit was quite rumpled, and he looked quite drunk. _That would also explain his less than impeccable grammar_, thought John.

"Oh, you bloody idiot, Sherlock. Are you drunk?"

"It was an ex-exp-experiment, Jawn. I was with Lestrade. What do you think?" Sherlock mumbled, raising his arm up to the shorter man like a child begging to be held.

"No. I am _not_ carrying you. You know, I've a right mind to leave you out here tonight. That oughta sober you up," John reprimanded him, his motherly side showing through.

"B-b-but...please?" Sherlock tried puppy eyes on John; the doctor;s heart melted, but he was determined to keep up his gruff composure, thinking, _he must be very drunk if he's resorted to begging._

Stooping down to support the detective's shoulder, the pair stumbled into the building.

"What's going on, dears?" Mrs. Hudson asked from her doorway, wearing a robe an slippers.

"Oh, nothing. I think Sherlock here's had a bit much to drink, so I'm just-" he gestured upstairs with his free hand.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock exclaimed. "You look lovely."

"Why thank you, Sherlock dear. Now you two go off to bed." She winked at them and retreated back into her flat.

They now faced the daunting task of ascending the stairs. It worked somewhat like this:

John tries hoisting Sherlock up onto his back. Sherlock: "Ouch! Don't you dare drop me again."

Pulling Sherlock up the stairs by his armpits: "Oof. No. Way. My head hurts now!"

Making Sherlock walk through bribery: "I'm not an idiot, Jawn. You'll never trick me."

Leaving him at the foot of the stairs: "But Jawn, it's dark down here! I'm scared and cold and sore."

After much trial and error, John settled on carrying Sherlock bundled up in his arms. The taller man sighed contently, burying his face in his blogger's neck while John slowly crept up the stairs; although Sherlock was light, he was tall and gangly (and nowhere near as elegant as when he was sober), and his feet caught on the wall, slowing the doctor down. It didn't help that every time Sherlock bumped into something he started whining about his head, regardless of what part of him smashed into the wall.

Upon reaching Sherlock's room John dumped the detective on the floor, ordering him to get up and get in bed.

"But Jawn! Everything's...spinning. I need you," Sherlock complained.

"For the love of God, Sherlock, you're not a child!" THe doctor sighed but helped Sherlock up, once again supporting is full weight, and attempted to toss him onto the bed. Their legs got tangled up and Sherlock's dead weight pulled John onto the bed beside him, legs intertwined. John gently untangled them and settled Sherlock more comfortably on top of the covers. As he moved to clamber off of the bed, the detective's hand shot out and clamped onto John's forearm.

"Stay with me," Sherlock mumbled, pulling John back down onto the bed.

"Bloody idot. Now people will really talk," he grumbled as he untied his robe, pulling it out from underneath him. As soon as he tossed it off to the side, Sherlock pulled him closer, snuggling into John's pajama-clad chest. The doctor tensed, but Sherlock appeared unfazed. The detective leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

"I love you, Jawn," he whispered, then tucked his face into John's neck. The doctor remained tense, but once he realized that Sherlock had dozed off he relaxed, wrapping his arms around his flatmate and gently kissing him on the head.

"Love you too, bloody idiot." John yawned and quickly dozed off as well, wondering just how much of this Sherlock would remember in the morning, and how he would cope with the headache.

**AN: First go at Johnlock! I hope it's pretty in character...although with Sherlock drunk you can make him do a lot of things ;). Also this is just Lucy so far...(the main writer for this account 'cause all the others are too lazy/busy)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Steven Moffat or BBC so I (unfortunately) have no control over Sherlock. Much as I'd like to...*fantasizes about owning BBC***


End file.
